


A girl named Arya

by Breakingthestandards



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/pseuds/Breakingthestandards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya has many dreams, but these particular ones confuse her. Who is this Arya she sees?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A girl named Arya

**“A girl named Arya”**

“A determined, naïve young girl.” The man spat as he smashed his beer stein on the bar in front of him.

Some drops of the liquid flew upwards and splattered on the girl’s face.

“You’d do well to stay away from the harbour. You won’t like the people there.”

“I will find them.” She replied.

Arya looked around her. She was already considered a beauty at age fifteen with her long locks and bright eyes. It was no wonder that this older man, who looked like a jolly old grandpa despite his age of fifty-and-one, had taken an intuitive guardian role over her and tried to shelter her from the hardships life had to offer. But the girl simply huffed and turned her head the other way so she didn’t have to look at him. Her attention was elsewhere and she was as hard-headed as she was determined.

“Go ahead then.” The man said and his voice showed his obvious concern like a man pretending to have been beaten but still attempting to win his fight. “You go there and let yerself be raped and slayed. What could a slip of a girl do on her own to stop ‘em? But it’s no concern of mine. I warned ye!” His obvious concern made his speech less polite but no less whining. Arya almost felt sorry for him.

“Thanks. I will manage.” She pushed a coin towards him, over the wooden surface of the bar, and with a small smile she slid off her stool and turned away.

“So ye are leaving then?” The man panicked. “Ye could always ask for some help?”

Arya stopped in her tracks but didn’t need to look at him to know his face must be wrinkled with lines of worry. She had not met such compassion for a long time. Words weren’t needed and the small gesture that she gave him as an answer, a shrug, was met with more wailing from the older man. But she ignored him and exited the tavern.

A villainous smile crept onto her face when sunlight stroked her cheeks and she had to contain the urge to chuckle or laugh out loud. “I?” She said for anyone to hear – not that anyone was near enough or interested enough to listen to her. “Food for the men? Another defenceless girl for the thieves of innocence?” Her eyes flickered dangerously.

“I have been on my own for as long as I can remember and if I have to, I’ll slay them all.”

\--

Arya woke up with a start. Her hand was wound in her hair before she had time to realise she had moved. Her breathing was ragged and wild like an animal that’s been hunted.

When she let a puff of air escape her lips she was startled once more to hear a voice coming from the darkness of her cell.

“A girl had a dream?”

“Bloody hell! Jaqen, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?” The faceless man could not see her frown but she had no doubts that he must somehow have sensed her facial expression. It seemed like the kind of thing all faceless men could do; know every expression of the face whether it was light or dark around them without having any true expressions of their own. Arya was not unknowing. She had seen faceless men with their skulls bare to the open air, worms creeping out of eye sockets and half-eaten bits and pieces of flesh adorning dry bone. She had no doubt that the true Jaqen, the faceless man she had so stubbornly given a name to, must actually be as bare and as rotten as the skulls of the faceless men she had seen. Yet that knowledge did nothing to scare her away. Though she would have to admit to herself that she liked this face he now wore best – even if she could not see it in the darkness of the night- she knew that if he would change she would still admire him for who he was: a master of disguises and a teacher of swords and of life.

He might bring death but he had taught her so many things to stay alive.

“A man may not seek out a girl?”

Arya snorted. “A man might, yes. But why would he? Wouldn’t the others think it strange for a man to be in a girl’s room in the middle of the night when there’s no need to train?” She shot up in her bed, her fingers curled around the edges of her blanket with which she modestly covered herself. You never know with these faceless men. They might even be able to _see_ in the dark.

Though she heard and saw nothing she thought he was slightly annoyed by her act of modesty. “A girl must always be prepared for the unexpected.” 

“Right.”

Silence ruled.

“What did you really come for, Jaqen?”

She could hear him sigh and somehow _knew_ he must have done so on purpose. Everything about him seemed so calculated and so overthought. “A man was on his way to duty when he heard the restless screams of a girl.”

“Well, the girl had a better night than she has had in ages.” Arya gritted her teeth and tried not to narrow her eyes at him. Between her wolf dreams and nightmares of her time at home and the family she had lost, this particular dream of the night was highly unnerving. She wondered if Jaqen knew about her dreams and if he had heard her before when she tossed and turned and thought herself to be Nymeria. She hoped not, it would give too much of herself away. The dreams of what used to be her home and of the people that used to be her family and friends would not please him either. If he knew she had those dreams he would know that she had an identity still and that she was far removed from becoming no one herself.

And it was her dearest wish if she wanted to extract her revenge, wasn’t it?

“Why _have_ you come?” She asked, wondering why, of all the nights and nightmares she has had, he had turned up now that she had this rather crazy dream.

But Jaqen did not answer to her other than a thoughtful frown – which she did not see but thought he must have given her.

“There will be much practice when day breaks. A girl must be well-rested.” She could feel her master’s hand gently being placed on her forehead. The palm was warm, his fingers brushing past her skin in comforting motions. The touch was gentle, the skin rough. How could one feel so alive and genuine when one was not even real. When one was a no one. Arya wondered.

The girl leaned back again. The blanket slipped from her fingers.

His scent drifted to her as cloves and ginger. It lulled her senses and brought sleep that she could not fight. As her eyes fell shut, despite her struggling, she thought she heard a familiar whisper tell her it was okay. “Sleep my lovely girl. I’ll watch over you.” And with a sense of safety she fell asleep to find no harmful dreams make their way into her subconscious.

\--

The next day came earlier than Arya could have wished for and she had to force herself up and out of the bed. Jaqen was not there when she awoke and she thought she might have imagined his presence the night before. After all, what would a master be doing in a student’s bedroom? She had to laugh at the notion. No, it mustn’t have been real. In a guild like the one she found herself in such an act would not be tolerated. And so she decided not to tell anyone and pretend like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

During breakfast Jaqen locked eyes with her and she swore she could see that small encouraging smile of his again. She raised a brow in question but her attention was already drawn by another acolyte who had to ask her to pass another slice of bread.

After her lessons with the Waif Arya checked the bolt on her door and made sure that it was locked. Though she was certain last night’s events concerning Jaqen had been a figment of her imagination she still scolded herself. If it would have been real then it would have meant that she hadn’t locked her door securely. And a faceless man to be could not be caught with a door unlocked.

She lay down in her bed and after snuggling underneath the blankets she closed her eyes and drew a content sigh.

\--

“Will you give me the bread?”

“Sure.” The boy looked at her and stammered. The girl merely laughed.

“Then hand it over.”

“I’m sorry, Arya, I was just…” His voice trailed off and his eyes slipped to a corner far away as not to see her. But she saw him blush until his cheeks burned.

“Look, it’s only for the best.” The girl replied zealously. She placed a hand on her hip and eyed the boy down. He somehow found the courage to ask her a question.

“Then you will leave Umma and me? You will go to Braavos?”

Arya smirked at the boy.

“I just might.”

\--

The new dream confused Arya when she woke that morning. Only the last part of her dream was still vivid in her mind and it made little to no sense. She did not know the boy and she did not know why he blushed. Though in her dream she seemed to be more aware of this signal of the body. In her dream she had believed the boy fancied her.

“Ridiculous.” She huffed as she threw the blanket off of her and exited the bed in order to get dressed.

The thing that puzzled her most was the mention of Umma, the cook of the House of Black and White. The boy had mentioned her leaving Umma in order to go to Braavos which made no sense. Umma was _here,_ in Braavos, where she always had been.

“My fantasies are getting more unrealistic with each passing day.” The girl complained.

A knock on the door startled her and she rushed over to place her hand on the wooden bolt.

“Is a Cat ready to practice with her master?” Jaqen’s voice was a soft whisper but Arya heard it.

“ _This_ Cat is ready when she has had her milk.” She purred before lifting the bolt and opening her door. It was as she had expected; her master stood in front of her donned in his grey robes. “Then a Cat may show her claws to a man after she has broken her fast.”

\--

Sweating bodies pressed against each other as the girl squeaked happily and the man pressed forth, surprising her and flipping her over so she was on her back. He pressed down on her with his weight, trapping her. The swords that got stuck between their bodies were forcefully pushed aside until Arya felt Jaqen’s body press her deeper into the dirt while simultaneously she felt her last bit of air leave her lungs. Her fingers tightened round her hilt until it become too hard to hold and she swung it to the side.

Jaqen laughed when the tip of his sword was pointed at her throat.

“A girl fought well but has to surrender, eh?”

“A girl would not have had to if a man hadn’t cheated.” She retorted.

“When did a man cheat?”

“Besides, I already won of you two times.”

“Out of seventy-six.”

“Which is still an improvement since we started using that new technique of yours.” Arya said cheekily.

“This man has no technique. This man owns nothing.” Something in his eyes glistened and Arya forgot to breathe. He mistook her reaction and quickly scrambled up off the floor before offering her his hand to pull her up as well.

“A man is sorry. A man did not mean to suffocate his girl.”

Arya dusted her clothes and coughed. “Apology accepted.” A smile of relief slipped onto Jaqen’s face but it was washed away soon after as Arya, who hadn’t been looking at him till then, spoke again. “If you teach me how to make Tears of Lys.”

Jaqen’s face became neutral again. “A man cannot teach you this. It shall be taught in time.”

“Then a man is not forgiven.” Arya mocked.

“A meal will be in need of preparation.” At Jaqen’s hint Arya rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “I get it,” She said whilst flapping her hands about. She knew it was her turn to help Umma in the kitchen. “A girl will do this.”

“It is her task for the night. All other acolytes will also fulfil their duties.” Her master reminded her.

“You’re not forgiven yet!” She said loudly for him to hear as she walked away.

“A man could have done worse things than deny a girl her lessons.” He retorted and though it was not loud she could still hear him. Yet she did not halt at his words.

Then she was gone.

\--

The girl was standing in front of a gravestone. Wilted flowers drooped sadly in her right hand. The left hand was empty but this was the hand where the danger would lie.

“It’s a fake.” She shouted. The anger that overtook her filled her onlookers with an odd mixture of fear and sympathy. This was a girl who had lost it all and who had been struggling to find her place in life. This was a girl searching to find her own identity.

“You lied to me!” Within moments the empty hand was filled with a child’s blade and it was pointed at a middle-aged man. “This is all a lie. Say it!”

The man held his hands up to her and shook his head, stammering. “But it is _so_. This is where you come from.”

“I am NO Stark.” The girl shouted and her sword was already cleaving through the air. “Say it, Lord Waters. Tell me this is all a lie.” Gendry dodged the sword with some effort and landed on one knee. He looked up at the seething girl before him and took pity.

His eyes softened. “ _You are so much like your mother_.”

Arya’s eyes flew open wide. This time, however, there wasn’t a faceless man in her room to hold her. She got up from the bed and clumsily dressed herself before she hurried to the kitchen. A cup of water would do her good. Her hair was sticking to her face and her body refused to stop perspiring after another night’s terror.

“This girl,” She ran a hand through her hair but didn’t finish the sentence out loud.

 _This is girl isn’t me._ She thought, panic visible in her eyes as she surmised the many repeating dreams she had had over the past time. Ever since she had arrived at the Temple of the Many Faced God these dreams had started to surface and sometimes overtook her dreams of the direwolf. They came more and more often, more and more frequent, and they all depicted the life of a girl who looked like her and whose name she shared. _Arya_.

“I will become no one.” Arya whispered as she closed her eyes.

Out of the shadows Jaqen stepped forth and offered to refill her cup. “A girl must become no one. A man has faith.”

But as Arya gave him an encouraging small smile she thought this would be near impossible. She wondered and worried in silence.

_How can you be no one when you are a mother?_

\--

Her concentration lacked and the other acolytes, who had never truly taken a shine to her, made fun of her.

The Cat had suddenly lost her claws.

The other faceless men must have noticed. The Waif voiced her worry.

Yet Arya continued to practice her skills with great zeal and determination. She would show them she could do this, even if she was as distracted as she was. In the evenings she would cry out in rage once she was back in her black little cell. A sword was destroyed in the days that followed, as was another. Several of the dishes shattered. She was too rough with them. She was not caring. She was worried. And even worse:

She was Arya.

“This will not do.” The Kindly Man had told her one day when she was once again resting after another lost battle on the practice field. Bruises covered her arms and face.

“Something is on Arya´s mind.”

“I told you,” Arya said through gritted teeth, “I am no one.”

“Does Arya know this?” The man asked her curiously, brow raised.

“She knows.”

“Then she has not forgotten herself.” And Arya bit her lip while mentally hitting herself for the stupid mistake she had made.

Once the Kindly Man had gone another shadow fell over her and she looked up to find her mentor in front of her. Jaqen bend down and gently touched his fingertips to her bruised cheek. “A girl should apply a salve to that.”

“A girl had lost her focus.”

Jaqen didn’t seem to want to press her any further on the matter. “ A new assignment is to be given to an acolyte this afternoon.”

“I want it.” Jaqen looked at the girl but showed no surprise though Arya sensed that he was.

“An assignment requires attention.” He merely said.

“And attention this girl lacks. I get it. The Cat has lost her claws.” Arya sighed and closed her eyes. Jaqen’s hand was on her face again but this time she felt his skin at both sides. Two hands were cradling her and she had to open her eyes again to meet his. There was an emotion in them but she found it hard to read. Could it be worry?

“Is it the dreams?”

“Which ones?” The girl retorted.

“Those that make you toss and scream.”

Arya shook her head.

“The Cat has not lost her claws.” Jaqen whispered and then mirrored the small smile that had tugged Arya’s lips in an upward curl. 

“I wish I could believe so.” She smirked.

“A girl can.”

_\--_

The day ended. She did not end up with the task to deliver the gift to an elderly prostitute and she didn’t know whether it mattered to her or not.

Jaqen had promised her a task the next day. They were to head to the coast and visit the travelling circus there.

The task was simple; learn three new things.

 _While Jaqen gets to have all the fun……._ Arya thought slightly annoyed. She would have made a lot of noise about the whole arrangement if there hadn’t been other matters occupying her thoughts. Jaqen getting to do the killing tomorrow wasn’t the thing that kept her mind occupied. 

_Another Arya,_ Arya thought, _who is not me. Gendry, he looked so old. Could he possibly still be alive? Why did he tell her she looked like me? Could she be me? No, he called me a mother._

She snorted at this. _I’d never become a weakling like that and risk any child of mine to come into this vulgar world. They must be dreams. Silly dreams of a girl who is getting nearer to womanhood. All girls seem to have that wish, that silly wish for a child and a man._

Here Arya remembered her sister, Sansa, and all the feeble fantasies she had before their family was torn apart. 

_I am not such a girl nor will I ever have such wishes. All I want to see is death and glorious revenge. I will not rest till they are all no more._

“Ser Ilyn Payne, Cersei, the Mountain……”

After reciting her list she fell asleep and watched through the eyes of her beloved direwolf.

\--

Despite her good night’s rest, as far as one could call her nightly adventures as such, Arya felt none the better when she woke up in the morning. She helped Umma in the kitchen and was surprised when the cook took a moment to talk to her.

“I see you are distracted. The cause of it we can only guess.” The woman kindly said.

This was new to Arya because the other woman would usually scold the acolytes or tell them what to do. She never put food aside to take time for small talk. Why would she do so now? Arya knew she was frowning by the worried look in Umma’s eyes.

“There’s that look again. You’ll have a hard time convincing the order that you’re worthy of becoming a faceless man if you keep giving us the Arya face.”

“I did not.” Arya snapped at her, then realized she had only sounded weaker by doing so. She bit her lip and glanced away for a brief moment but it was enough to show her Starkness for a little while longer.

“Your master has given you a task today, hasn’t he?” Umma hummed. Arya’s eyes pierced hers when the girl delivered her a fiery look. “What if he did?” She said.

“If you should happen to visit the circus then you should try meet with Agaï, a soothsayer who once was an acolyte.”

This surprised Arya even more, but she was trying to rule her face and knew that Umma couldn’t tell. She was finally mastering her faceless men skills; she was showing no emotion.

Another acolyte came in and they continued the preparations for their breakfast. Not another word was exchanged about this soothsayer. But Arya was left to wonder in silence. Why had Umma suggested her to undertake this action? Did she know of the dreams?

\--

“A man cannot teach a girl this lesson. She will have to learn from a better master.”

Jaqen stood there with his hands casually on his haps and that emotionless expression on his borrowed face. Arya wanted to do nothing more than tease him until he smirked.

She loved that smirk.

“I thought you were the best?” She said, challenging him.

“For poisons another master will teach a girl.”

“The Waif.” Arya whispered. She had been taught many things by the Waif before and she knew that the Waif’s small appearance was induced by the many poisons she had been taken since she was a child. The nature or the names of these poisons were still unknown to Arya and quite frankly she didn’t care much for them. Arya wasn’t very keen on remaining a little girl forever – though she knew she had stopped growing some time ago and would probably remain this not very tall height forever.

“All right, the Waif.” She repeated to herself. It earned her a hint of a smirk.

Arya wondered why he taught her many things but would refuse to teach her how to create poisons. Before she realized what she was doing she found herself studying him with an interest not previously known. When Arya looked at her master it was through narrowed eyes as she took him in, head to toe and halted shortly when she caught sight of the look in his eyes.

A swirling storm. A mixture of emotions the other Arya would probably be able to identify. But this Arya was left confused.

“Did you know Umma suggested for me to see a soothsayer down at the circus?” She huffed, but Jaqen replied with a small smirk nearly instantly.

“Agaï. It’s been a long time.”

“Did you know her?” Arya cocked her head and looked at her master through half-lidded eyes. They had taken to sit on the edge of the temple wall and enjoyed the rays of sun that had come out to touch their face.

“She visits the Temple once in a while.” Her master explained shortly.

Arya felt an odd sensation prickling inside her stomach. Why should she care who Jaqen was acquainted with?

“How come she’s travelling when she’s a faceless men?”

“She’s not.” Jaqen’s smirk was gone and Arya’s hands were tugging at the cloak he wore round his shoulders.

“But that cannot be. No one trains to be an acolyte and then leaves before becoming one.” The girl’s voice was rough.

“Can’t they?” Was her master’s reply. Jaqen looked at her and Arya shied away under his gaze. She quickly looked aside.

“All men must serve….Only death may pay for life…..You cannot just leave. It has consequences. The Kindly man said so.”

A finger was placed underneath Arya’s chin, her face was lifted till she faced her master and pouted directly at him instead of the opposite way.

“Is that so, lovely girl?” He whispered.

\--

The task Jaqen had set for them required for them to split up as soon as they arrived at the coast. “A girl must stay at the circus till a man has returned, understood?” He had said, and Arya had nodded.

She was dressed as an artist. Wearing a long skirt and her hair in a braid, Arya felt more feminine than ever and any stares in her direction were most unwelcome. Somehow, dressed in anything else but comfortable trousers and blouses handy for fight, she would feel embarrassed. Naked.

She felt like a girl.

Her task to blend in with the crowd at the travelling circus was an easy one and she made sure to look around her to learn as much as possible. She could always select the three things out of a bigger list, so long as she paid attention. _“Sila, a girl training to become an artist.”_ She could still hear Jaqen’s whispered words as he gently tugged at a strand of her hair. “Not far from the truth, my lovely girl. Not quite a lie.”

She supressed a shiver at the memory of how he had then leant forth to place a kiss on the strand of hair he held in his hand before braiding it. Arya snapped out of her thoughts.

After watching the artists perform for a while she decided to set out on her quest to find the soothsayer. It took a lot of effort to find the shabby tent that hid the former acolyte and it took even more effort not to slap a fat man who stood in her way to get there.

“Won’t you perform for us, little one, eh?” The man said, chuckling and grabbing her with his greasy hands.

“I’m still being trained.” She replied with a wry smile. _Act like a girl. Act like a cute cuddly child_. She felt like she could vomit.

“Oh? And what kind of show would that be?” The man asked. He showed a row of rotten teeth.

For a moment she considered acrobatics or gymnastics. Though a little voice challenged her to say ‘I’m the human cannonball’ and then run straight at him. But she had promised Jaqen at the start of the day not to use any violence while they were at the circus grounds so any torpedoing of bodies was out of the question too. Besides, when she glanced at the man in front of her she somehow knew that launching herself at him would most probably get her trapped between his two fat arms and if she wanted to avoid being squished she would have to resort to the small blade attached to her thigh. It was an option reserved for another day,

“Plate spinning. “ She replied whilst raising a brow.

“Ah, That would require some practice.” The man said in a husky, low voice. “How about you show me some of your moves.”

Arya was about to reply that she had no plates when the man was called away by a troupe of four shabby looking performers. He promised to be back for her.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips once he was gone and she could finally make her way to the tent of Agaï.

\--

“What do these dreams mean?”

The room they were in was dark and damp. Everything seemed to look red because of all the red patches of clothes that had been used to cover holes in the tent. In front of her sat an old woman. She was so very old that Arya had wondered if she had entered the right tent. But the woman had assured her that yes, she was Agaï, yes, she had been an trained at the temple and yes, she may call her an old crone. Which Arya did.

Deliberately.

“They mean they’re not you. You will abandon this baby as it is born and she will seek you out for it.”

Arya regretted having told her dreams to this woman and the anger and regret were visible in the girl’s eyes. Her hands formed into fists, clenched and unclenched, and she gritted her teeth. She should have asked the old crone about her wolf dreams. She should have asked her about Nymeria and Gendry. She should have asked about her mother or Sansa or Jon.

“Then I don’t want that. I never wanted to have babies anyway. They smell, they yell, they do nasty things and they’re NOT cute.”

 _You must be mistaken_ , she thought. _They are just dreams, nothing more._ But somehow she couldn’t get herself to believe that. If she had she would have never felt the urge to come here and ask the woman in the first place.

“Girl, girl.” The old crone shushed her and received a death glare in exchange. “A child is precious. It is an individual. It is life.” The old woman shook her head and with the action prevented Arya from interrupting. “You should be honoured that fate has chosen you on this path.”

“This future. I don’t want it! I will not become some helpless female! I will not be a mother!” Arya’s hands had formed into fists and she was fuming. The old woman could see it but wisely decided to ignore the girl’s temper in order to spew her wisdom while there were still ears to hear.

“You may not want it. You may not get it. Make a mistake and you will have it. Prevent the mistake and there will be no quest for true parentage. Whichever way you’ll choose _this child will be born_.”

“I don’t want children!”

Arya was starting to become desperate. In her mind she could already see all the faces of women she had known who had been besotted, married, betrayed and left on their own. She saw the burden of motherhood, the responsibilities of a young life, the hate that could grow out of families being torn apart and she did not want it.

“The child will be born whether you want her or not!” The old woman’s eyes were blazing; as if a huge fire had started behind them and was ready to burst out any moment. It took Arya by surprise to see the old crone look so lively and dangerous and she took a step back, finally being silenced by the wiser woman. Arya became more humble now as she thought of a new comeback into this game of words. She wanted to say something that would make the old woman yield and tell her she would not get pregnant at any point in her life. But her thoughts and plans were interrupted by a certain man sticking his head through the opening of the tent.

“Sila, are you done?”

The old crone’s smirk had turned twisted but the fire in her eyes hadn’t gone out. It might have been reduced to embers, making her gaze less dangerous than it initially had been, but she was still seeing more than Arya had liked for her to see. A future perhaps.

“A man has permission to take her.” The old woman said and for a short and awkward moment Arya thought her words might mean something else, as if there was a second layer to them.

She turned briskly and was already on her way out to follow the man who had already left again, when she heard the woman let a whisper escape her lips.

“If you seek the predator and follow him like a meek sheep your choice will rush to you.”

Arya exited the tent.

\--

“Don’t you wish to know what she told me?” Arya’s big and innocent eyes looked at the man pleadingly, like a kitten looking up at its owner in want for food or play.

“Not all matters concern me.” She hated it when her master feigned lack of interest. She was pretty sure he wanted to know. Why else would he have let her go to the old woman? To hear a silly tale about her dreams? There must be more to it.

She shuffled closer to him. “This one may.”

“This one may.” He looked at her and she wondered if she just had seen a small trace of a smile at the corner of his lips. “But if a girl wants to become no one, then no matters will be of interest to her except those of the Red God.”

“And what if these matters concern a plot by his grace of the Many Faces?” The girl returned with a mocking smile. She folded her arms in front of her chest.

“Then a girl may inform a man.”

“Good.” Arya stopped at that. Should she tell him when she wasn’t certain what would happen yet?

If the soothsayer was right than her dreams were an indication of her future. She would at some point give birth to a girl who would carry her name. The girl didn’t know her parents but somehow she did know Umma. And Umma lived with her somewhere outside of Braavos.

All in all, when Arya came to think of it, none of it sounded like a good thing to mention to a faceless man who was supposed to be her mentor. It all pleaded against becoming a faceless man. Having a child was not something faceless men could have. Giving your name to someone else…. Would that be accepted at the temple or would it be seen as another way to keep your original identity alive? She was supposed to become no one and all these dream-things were very personal. They all pointed back at Arya Stark.

A frown passed her face but she tried to rule her features and make them neutral.

“Practice at emotionlessness. Let your opponent guess your true thoughts. This a girl must do, yes?” Jaqen tried to search her eyes for a clue, probably curious if she would tell him more like she had indicated she would. But she decided not to reveal anything and kept her face blank.

“Yes, practice we will.”

\--

The three things she had learnt had been accepted by both the Kindly Man and the Waif. When she saw Jaqen later on in the garden she had told him her three newly found things and he had frowned at her.

“A man would have thought the girl to have paid more attention.” He grumbled.

“Yes, but,” Arya started in her defence, “I did not kill, injure or attack that fat man.” She smiled proudly at him. Her smile expanded when she saw the confused look in his eyes.

“I know, I am proud of me too.” She jumped down from the wall she’d been standing on and landed in front of her master’s feet. There, she bowed, just for show.

“A girl should not mock a man. Not even a lovely girl should.”

She grinned at him. “Come on, I learned that any travellers are first seen by the head of the town, and that the rich fishmonger’s daughter likes to dress up as a harlot just to have some fun time away from daddy. Well, whenever he’s not looking anyway.”

Jaqen grunted. “A girl has told her mentors three useless things of no interest and yet they accepted them?”

“They were _not_ useless.” Arya retorted and gently slapped Jaqen’s arm. “Among the fishmonger’s daughters group of friends are some of the wealthiest girls of the town. And all the information I gathered proves to be useful for the next gift which happens to be for the fishmonger himself. Well, he needs to be brought in discredit and so on.” Arya gazed at Jaqen. Their eyes locked.

“A man is merely surprised a girl did not mention she has learned a former acolyte lives. Or the explanation of her dreams.”

The girl looked down, deep in thought, and worried her lip with her teeth.

“I’d rather not anyone know of that.” She whispered.

Jaqen merely smirked.

\--

It was only late at night when Arya was back in her cell and huddled underneath her blanket that the words of the old crone came back to her and started echoing in her ears.

“She’s crazy.” Arya whispered. “I will have no child, whatever the fate may hold.”

_“If you seek the predator and follow him like a meek sheep your choice will rush to you.”_

She knew, however, that if the woman happened to be right - which she really wasn’t – a choice would lay ahead of her. If she chose wrongly than her daughter would grow up without a family.

“Hmph, may be for the better.” She grumbled under her breath before turning to lie on her side.

She wondered what other options were left for her. If she could change the future should she?

Arya groaned in frustration. She felt like this would be another restless night. She wondered if she would ever get to a point in life where her thoughts and motives would change. She could not imagine it. The thought of drooling over a man or a boy made her feel sick. She could not imagine herself like Sansa fawning over a man. How come she had a child in these dreams if she would not seek to lie with any man?

And then there was the way the flames in the older woman’s eyes had diminished but not disappeared upon Jaqen’s arrival.

_“If you seek the predator and follow him like a meek sheep your choice will rush to you.”_

Realization hit her.

There was only one man she might ever consider giving herself willingly to.

But she was too stubborn to admit it to herself.

“I must be mistaken.”

\--

After a night with little sleep, Arya found herself picking up her old pace again. She was less distracted and her performances during any kind of lessons were improving gradually. Jaqen smiled more when he was around her and Arya was glad to have received a little sheltered compliment of the Waif.

Umma had not asked her about her visit to Agaï, but she kept giving her odd glances that Arya couldn’t put a name to. Worried? Annoyed? She didn’t know.

Days passed by and life started to look more like it used to before her dreams began to bother her. In fact, Arya tried hard to ignore them and they slowly started to fade to the background, including the warnings of the old crone and the feeling she had in her gut.

She laughed, she joked, she pestered the other acolytes in her daring way and she found herself more comfortable with each passing day.

She sat outside after a long training session. Blood covered her chest, though the wound was on her arm, and she chuckled at her own stupidity. “It’s but a scratch.” She said, beaming a smile up at her master who gazed down at her worriedly despite the mask of neutrality he was constantly wearing.

The corner of his mouth curled upward and for a silly little moment Arya adored the look on his face. This was when she felt comfortable. This was the feeling she felt when she thought back of happier days back at Winterfell. It was a feeling she had when she remembered her family and friends, how she would spar with Jon or tell jokes to Bran. It was a warm and tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach and it made her feel at home.

She shook her head. This was dangerous!

No one logically had no home. No one had to be able to travel at all times and do whatever the Red God acquired of him. To feel attached to anything was a weakness.

Arya glanced shyly at her master who gave her an odd look in return, as if he knew what she was thinking.

To feel at home in this temple was out of the question.

\--

Night fell and for reasons Arya couldn’t describe she was back in her future dreams. The city she was in was unfamiliar to her. She wondered about it and realized that this must be the first time that she was able to think her own thoughts in this dream world. Perhaps the visit to the old crone had changed something? Or perhaps she was finally coming to terms with her dreams just being dreams.

A shout drew her attention and made her look up. She was standing in a crowd and tried to peer over the people around her. A quick glimpse of her reflection in a nearby window alerted her that she looked like she was wearing a disguise. _I must be hiding then,_ she thought in wonder.

Another shout and a loud yell by a man who screamed “Get that bitch” and Arya was off. She ran towards the sounds but she wasn’t the only one. The whole crowd seemed to step around her. Yet she managed to wiggle herself between two men and found she now had a view of the centre of the square.

“What’s happening?” She whispered, and a man to her right replied.

  
“She’s here. You know, the girl who murdered the priests at the Black and white Temple? She’s on her way to reclaim her home in the North.”

Arya could see her now. A faint figure who stood with her back to her. A man was blocking her way. He reminded her vaguely of someone. The Handsome Man?

He said something and the girl gave a cry of rage.

The girl drew her sword, fast and with such ease that many of the spectators wondered where she had kept the blade hidden. She then raised her sword at the man. Just before she charged at him, Arya could hear the man’s rasped voice reach her ears.

“I will not let you pass, _Arya H’Ghar_!”

**Author's Note:**

> AU: I hope you enjoy this little story. It's actually a bit of an introduction to a bigger story I had in mind and has a different focus than other Arya x Jaqen stories. But you'll see. I might write the rest of the story. I might :')


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